24/08/2025
At 61, I Remarried My First Love. On Our Wedding Night, As I Slowly Took Off Her Wedding Dress, I Was Shocked and Hurt by What I Saw…
This year I turn 61. My first wife passed away eight years ago due to a serious illness. For all those years I lived alone — in silence, in coldness, without companionship.
My children already have families of their own. They visit me from time to time — usually once a month — to bring me some money and medicine, and then they leave right away.
I don’t blame them. I know they’re busy with their lives. I understand.
But on some rainy nights, as I lie in bed listening to the water tapping against the tin roof, I feel so small — and utterly alone.
Last year, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon the profile of my high school first love. Back then, I adored her: her long hair down to her waist, her dark and deep eyes, and her radiant smile.
But while I was preparing for my university entrance exam, her family married her off to a man ten years older. She moved south, and from then on we lost contact.
After forty years, we spoke again — and she too was a widow. Her husband had passed away five years earlier. She lived with her youngest son, but he was rarely home because of his job far away.
At first, we only exchanged greetings through messages. Then we started calling each other. And in time, we met for coffee whenever we could. I can’t explain it, but every few days I found myself going to her house — bringing fruit, a box of cake, and vitamins for her joints.
One day, half-joking, I said:
—“What if… the two of us, now older, got married so we wouldn’t be alone?”
To my surprise, her eyes filled with tears. I froze and quickly tried to explain myself, but she smiled and nodded gently.
And so, at 61, I remarried my first love.
On our wedding day, I wore a dark brown embroidered áo dài, while she wore a white silk áo dài. Her hair was pinned up with a small pearl clip.
Friends and neighbors came to congratulate us. They said:
—“You both look younger!”
And it was true — I felt young again.
That night, after tidying up what was left from the celebration, it was nearly ten o’clock. I made her a glass of warm milk, then slowly closed the windows and turned off the balcony light.
Our wedding night — a night I thought I would never live to see at my age — had finally come.
And as I slowly took off her wedding dress, I suddenly froze — shocked… and hurt by what I saw.
